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He glories to lato times to be convey'd, l Clarinda's bosom burns, but burns for fame ; Nor for the poor he has relied, but made, And love lies vanquish'd in a nobler flame; Not such ambitiou lus great fathers fird, Warın gleams of hope she now dispenses; then, When Harry conquerd, and half France expird. Like April suns, dives into clouds again.
He'd be a slave, a pimp, a dog, for gain; With all her lustre now her lover warms; Nay, a dull sheriff for his golden chain.
Then, out of ostentation, hides her charms. i Who'd be a slave?" the gallant colonel cries, 'Tis next her pleasure sweetly to complain, Wbile love of glory sparkles from bis eyes. And to be iaken with a sudden pain; To dealbless fame he loudly pleads his right; [Then she starts up all ecstasy and bliss, Just is his title, for I will not fight:
And is, sweet soul! just as sincere in this. All soldiers valor, all divines have grace, Oh how she rolls her charming eyes in spite ! As maids of honor beauty by their place. And looks delightfully with all her might! But when indulying on the last campain, | But like our heroes, much more brave than wise, His lofiy terms climb o'er the hills of slain, She conquers for the triumph, not the prize. He gives the foes he slew, at each vain word, Zarà resembles Ætna crown'd with snows; A sweet revenge, and half absolves his sword. Without she freezes, and within she glows.
Of boasting more than of a bonb afraid, Twice cre the sun descends, with zeal inspird, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
From the vain converse of the world retird; Fame is a bubble the resery'd enjoy,
She reads the psalms and chapters for the day Who strive to grasp it, as they couch, destroy : In-- Cleopatra, or the last new play. 'Tis the world's debt to deeds of high degree i Thus gloomy Zara with a solemi grace But if you pay yourself, the world is free. (own, Decejies mankind, and hides behind her face.
Were there no wngue iu speak them but his | Nor far beneath her in renown is she Augustus' deeds in arius had ne'er been known; Who, thro' good breeding, is ill company: Angestus' deeils ! if that ambiguous name Whose manners will not let her laruin cese, Confound my reader, and niisgnides his aim, who thinks you are unbappy when at peace; Such is the princes' worth of whom I speak, To find you news who racks her subtle head, The Roman would noi blush at the mistake. And vows that her great grandfather is dead.
A dearth of words a woman need not fear;
But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear.
In that the skill of conversation lies:
That shows or makes you both polite and wise. Of all god's works! creature in whom excell'd, Xantippe cries, “Let nyops who nought can Whatever can to sight or thought be form'd, “ Be losi in silence, and resign the day; (say Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! “ And let the guilty wife her guilt confess How art thou lost !
MILTON. " By tame behaviour, and a soft address." Nor reigns ainbition in bold man alone; Thro' virtue, she refuses to comply Sofi feinale arts the rule invader own.
With all the dictates of humanity; Breihere, indeed, it deals in nicer things Thro' wisdom, she refuses to submit Than routing arinies and dechroning kings. To wisdom's rules, and raves to prove her wit : Attend, and voli discern it, in the fair,
Then, her unblemish'd honor 10 inaintain, Conduct a finger, or reclaim a hair:
Rejects her husband's kindness with disdain. Or roll the lucid orbit of an eye:
But, if by chance an ill-adapted word Or in full joy elaborate a sigh. (Llame ; Drops from the lip of her uilwary lord,
The sex we honor, tho' their faults we Her darling china in a whirlwind sent, Nay, thank their fa::lts försuch a fruitful theme. Just intimates the lady's discontent. A theme, fair- ! doubly kind to me, l lline may indeed exciie the meekest dame; Since satirising those is praising thee;
But, keca Xantippe, scoruing borrow'd flanie, Who would'st thou bear, too modestly refin'd, Càn vent her thunders, and her lightnings play, A panegyric of a grosker kind.
O'er cooling gruel and composing tea Britannia's daughters, much more fair than Nor rests by night; but, more sincere than nice, Too fond of admiration, lose their price; (vice, She shakes the curtains with her kind advice. Worn in the public cye, give chetip delight Doubly like Echo, sound is her delight, To throngs, and tarnish to the fated sight. And the last word is her eternal right. As unreserv'd and beauteous as the sun, Is 't not enough plagues, wars, and fainines rise Thro' every sign of viwity they run ;
To lash our crimes, but must our wives be wise? Assemblies, parks, coarse feasts in city halls, Famine, plague, war, and anunnumber'd throng Lectures and trials, plays, coinmittees, balls, of guilt-avenging ills, to man belong; Wells, Bedlains, executions, Smithfield scenes, What black, what ceaseless cares besiegcourstate! And fortune-teilers' caves, and lions' dens, What strokes we feel from fancy and from fate! Taverns, exchanges, Bridewells, drawing-rooms, If fate, forbears as, fancy strikes the blow; Instalments, pillories, coronations, tombs, We make misfortune, suicides in woe. Tumblers, and timcrals, puppet-shows, reviews, Superfluous aid! unnecessary skill! Sales, races, rabbits, and (still stranger!) pows. Is nature backward to torment or kill?
How oft the noon, how oft the inidnight bell, I Sempronia lik'd her man, and well she miglit, (That iron tongue of death!) with soleinn knell, The youth in person and in parts was bright; On folly's errands as we vainly roam,
Possess'd of ev'ry virtue, grace, and art, Knocks at our hearts, and finds our thoughts That claims just empire n'er the female heart. from home!
He inet her passion, all her sichs return'd, Men drop so fast, ere life's mid stage we tread, And in full rage of youthful ardor burn'd. Few know so many friends alive as dead. Large his possessions, and beyond her own : Yet, as immortal, in our uphill chace
Their bliss the thenie and envy of the town. We press coy fortune with unslackend pace; The day was fix'd; when, wiih one aere more, Our ardent labors for the toys we seck
In step deformr'd. debauch'd, cliseas'd threescore. Join night to day, and Sunday to the week. The fatal sequel I thro' shame forbear : Our very joys are anxious, and expire
Of pride and av'rice who can cure the fair? Between satiety and fierce desire.
Man's rich with little, were his judgement true. Now what reward for all this grief and toil? Nature is frugal, and her wants are lew; But one -- a female friend's endearing smile; Those few wauts answer'd bring sincere delights, A tender sinile, our sorrow's only balm, But fools create themselves new appetites. And, in life's teinpest, the sad sailor's calm. | Fancy and pride scek things at vast expence,
How have I seen a gentle nyinph draw nigh, Which relish nor to reason nor to sense. Peace in her air, persuasion in her eye; When surfeit or unthankfulness restroys, Victorious tenderness! it all o’ercaine; In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys, Husbands look'd mild, and savages grew tame. In fancy's airy land of noise and show,
The sylvan race our active nymphs pursue; Where nonghibutdreains, 110 real pleasures grow, Man is not all the game they have in view : Like cats in air pumps, to subsisi we strive In woods and fields their glory they complete, On joys too thin to keep the soul alive. There Master Betty leaps a five-barr'd gate; Leinira's sick, make baste, the doctor call : While fair Miss Charles to toilets is confin'd, He comes; but where's his patient? At the ball. Nor rashly tempts the barb'rous sun aud wind. The doctor stares, her woman curt'sies low, Some nyniphs affect a more heroic breed, And cries, “ My lady, Sir, is always so. And vault from hunters to the manged steed; “ Diversions put her maladies to flight; (nigirt. Command his prancings with a martial air; " True, she can't stand, but she can dance all And Fobert has the forming of the fair. " I've known my lady (for she loves a tune)
More than one steed musi Delia's empire feel," For fevers take an opera in June ; [bold, Who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel: “ And though perhaps you'll think the practice And, as she guides it thro'th'admiring throng!“ A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold. With what an air she smacks the silken thong ! " With colics, breakfasts of green fruit agree; Graceful as John she moderates the reins, " With indigestions, supper just at three." And whistles sweet her diuretic strains.
A strange alternative! replies Sir Hans ; Sesostris-like, such charioteers as these
Must women have a doctor, or a dance? May drive six harness'd monarchs, if they please. Tho' sick to death, abroad they safely roam ; They drive, row, run, with love of glory sinit; But droop and die, in perfect health at home. Leap, swim, shoot flying, and pronounce on wit. For wani- but not of health -- are ladies ill;
O'er the belles lettres lovely Daphne reigns, And tickets cure beyond the doctor's pill. Again the god Apollo wears her chains.
Alas! my heart, how languishingly fair With legs ioss'd high on her sophee she sits, Yon lady lolls! with what a tender air! Vouchsafing audience to contending wits; Pale as a young dramatic author, when Of each performance she's the final test; O'er darling lines fell Cibber waves his pen. One act read o'er, she prophesies the resi; Is her lord angry, or as Viny * chid ? And then pronouncing with decisive air, Dead is her father, or the mask forbid ? Fully convinces all the town - she's fair. “ Late sitting up has turn'd her roses white." Had lovely Daphne Hecatessa's face,
Why went she not to bed ? “ Because 'twas How would her elegance of taste decrease!
“ night." Some ladies' judgement in their features lies, Did she then dance or play? « Nor this or that." And all their genius sparkles from their eyes. Well night soon steals away in pleasing chat.
But hold, she cries, lampooner! have a care: “ No, all alone, her pray'rs she rather chose, Must I want common sense because I 'm fair?" Than be that wretch to sleep till morning rose." Oh no! see Stella: her eyes shine as bright Theu Lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade, As if her tongue was never in the right; Goes with the fashionable owls, to bed. And yet what real learning, judgement, fire! This her pride covets, this her health denies ; She seeins inspir’d, and can herself inspire. Her soul is silly, but her body's wise. How then (if malice ruld not all the fair) Others with curious arts dim charms revive Could Daphne publish, and could she forbear? And triumph in the bloom of Gifty-five. We grant that beauty is no bar to sense, You in the morning a fair nymph invite, Nor is 't a sanction for impertinence.
(To keep her word a brown one coines at night;
Next • Lap-dog.
Next day she sluines in ulossy black and then I llith what well-acied transport will she say, Revolves into her native red again.
1. Well, sue, we were so happy yesterday? Liki adove's neck, sue shifishertransientcharnis, And then that charming party for to-morrow!" And is her own dear rival in your arms. Tho' well she knows 'twill languish into sorrow.
But one adınirer has the painted lass; But she dares nerer boast the present hour; Nor finds that one lul in her looking-gluss. So gross that cheat, it is beyond her pow'r. Yet Laura 's beautiful to such excess,
For such is or our weakness or our curse, That all her art scarce malics her please the less: Or rather such our crime, which still is worse, To deck tie feuiale cheek lle only kuows, The present nomcnt, like a wife, we shun, Who paints less tair theils and the rose. [pours, and we'er enjoy, because it is our own.
How go ther smile! such blessings nature Pleasures are few, and fewer we enjoy; O'ersieckmanninn er ny but half her stores; Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright and ony; In distant wilds, by human erius unseen, Vestrive to grasp it, with our utmost skill, She rear her flow'rs, ancispreadsher velvetgreen. Still ii dudes iis, and it glitters still: Pure gurgling rilis she lovely desart trace, Il seis'd at last, compule your miyliis gains; And waste thicii Imusic on beinage race. That is it but rank poisou in your veins? I Nature then a ner of iter bliss?
1 As Flavia in her glass an angel spies, Repine we guililes in a world like this? | Pride whispers in her ear perniciou lies; But our lend lasies her lawful clarins refuse, Tells her, while she surveys a face so fine, And painted ari's deprav'd alluremenis choose. Tiere is no saliciy of charms divine: Such Fol 's passion for the 10011; fresh air Hence, it her lover vawns, all chang'd appears (An odd eifect!) gives vapors to the fair : Hler temper, and she melts (sweet soul!)in tears. Green fields, and shady grovescindcrystalsprings, She, fond and young, last week her wishenjoy'd, And lark, and wzbatingales, are odious things ilin soft analsenient all the night employ'd ; Butsmole,anddustandooise,auderowds,delight; The morning came, whenStrephon waking iound And to be prest to death, transports her quite. (Surprising sight!) his bride in sorrow drown'd. Where silver rivleis plar uiro' tiow'ry meads, Whatmiracle,'say Surephon, nakesthae weep.' Aud voodbines give their sweets, and Times their 'Ah barbarous man!' slie cries, how could you Black kennels' absent odors she regrets, [sliades, Men love a mistress as they love a feast;(sleep.' And stops her nose at bers of : iolets.
How grateful one to touch, and one to taste! Is stormy life preford to this serene? Yet suite there is a certain time of day, Or is the public io the private scenes
We wish our mistress and our meat away. Retird, we tread a smooth and open way; But soon the sated appetites return : Tluo' briers and brambles, in the world we Again our stomachis crave, our bosoms burn. Suif opposition, and perplex'd debate, stay, Eternal love let Man then never swear; And thoruy care, aut tank and stinging bate, Let women never triumph, nor despair. Wnich choke our passage, our carver control, Nor praise nor blarne too much the warm orchill; And wound ihe firmest icmper of the soul. Hunger and love are forcign to the will. () sacred solitude, divine retreat!
1 There is indeed a passion more refind, Choice of the prudent, envy of die great! For those few'nyniphs whose charms are of the By thy pure stream, or in thy swing shacle, But 10: of obat uniashionable set (mind: We court fair Wisdom, thjicekonal maid: 15 Phillis : Phillis and her Damon met. The genuine offspring of her lov'd embrace Eternal love exactly hits her taste; (Strangers on carih!) are Innocence and Peace. Poulis demands eternal love at least. There, from the ways of men laid safe ashore, Timbracing Phillis with soft siniling eyes, We smile to hear the distant tempest roar; Ecrnal love I vow, the swain replies: Thcre, blest with healih, with business unper- But say, my all, my ini tress, and my friend! This life we relish and ensure the next;[plexd, What day next week thi' eternity shall eud? There to the Muses sport; these numbers free, Some nymphs prefer astronomy to love; Pierian Eastbury! Touc to thee.
Elope froin mortal men, and range above. There sport the Muses but nou here alone; The fair philosopher to Rowley flies, Their sacred force Amelia feels in town. Where in a box the whole creation lies. Naught but a genius can a genius fit;
She sees the planets in their turns advance;' it wit herself, Amelia weds a wit.
And scorns, Poitier, thy sublunary dance. Both wits! tho' miracles are said to cease, Of Desagulièr she bespeaks fresh air, Three davs, three wondrous davs they liv'd in And Whiston has engagements with the fair. With thefourth sun awarın di-pure arose [peace; What vain experiments Sophronia tries! On Durfey's poesy, and Bunyan's prose. | 'Tis not in air-pumps the gay colonel dies, The learned war both wage with equal force, But tho' to-day this rage of science reigns And the fifib morn concluded the divorce. Ofickle sex!) soon end her learned pains.
Phæbe, tho' she possesses nothing less, llo! Pug from Jupiter her heart has got, Is proud of being rich in happiness;
Turns out the stars, and Newton is a sot. Laboriously pursues delusive toys,
To t um ; she never took the height Content with pains, since they're reputed joys. Or Saturn, yet is ever in the right:
She strikes each point with native force of mind, The fair, 'tis true, by genius should be won,
Snatches the dear destroyer to her arms,
And amply gives (tho' treated long aniss)
If you resent, and wish a woman ill,
The languid lady next appears in state, Mechlin, che queen of lace, and Colberteen, Who was not born to carry her own weight; Tis doubt! 'tis darknesz! uill suspended fate She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid Assurnes her nod to close the grand debate. To her own stafure lifts the feeble maid. ,' When such her mind, why will the fair express | Then, if ordain' to 80 severe a doom, Their emulation only in their dress ? [skies, She by just stages journeys round the room;
But, oh! the nymph that mounts above the But, knowing her own ireakness, she despairs And, gratis, clears religious mysteries !
To scale the Alps - that is, ascend the stairs. Resolvid the church's welfare to ensure, My fan, let others say who laugh at loil; ! And make her family a sinecure.
Fan! hood! glave! scarf ! is her laconic styler The theme divine at cards she 'll not forget, And that is spoke with such a dying fall, But takes in texts of scripture at piquet ; That Betty rather sees than hears the call: In those licentious meetings acts the prude, The motion of her lips, and meaning eye, And thanks her maker that her cards are good. Pierce out the idea her faint words deny. What angels would these be, who thus excel On listen with attention most profound! In theologics, could they sew as well!
Her voice is but the shadow of a sound. Yet why should not the fair her text pursue? And help! oh help! her spirits are so dead, Can she more decently the doctor woo? . One hand scarce lifts the other to her hearl. r 'Tis hard too, she who makes no use but chat If there a stubborn pin it triumphs o'er, Of her religion, should be barr’d in that. She pants ! she sinks away! and is no more.. Isaac, a brother of the canting stain,
Let the robust and the gigantic carve; When he has knock'd at his own skull in vain, Life is not worth so much, she'd rather starve : To beauteous Marcia often will repair But chew she mast, herself, ah, cruel fate! With a dark text, to light it at the fair., That Rosalinda can 't by proxy eat. Oh how his pious soul exults to find
An antidote in female caprice lies Sucb love for holy men in womankind ! (Kind heaven !) against the poison of their eyes, Charm'd with her learning, with what rapture he] Thalestris triumphs in a inanly mien : Hangs on her bosom, like an industrious bee! Loud is her accent, and her phrase obscene, Hums round about her; and with all his pow'r In fair and open dealing where's the shame? Extracts sweet wisdom from so fair a flow'r! What nature dares to give, she dares to name.
The young and gay declining, Abra flies | This honest fellow is sincere and plain, At nobler game, the mighty and the wise : ' And justly gives the jealous husband pain. But nature more an eagle than a dove,
(Vain is the task to petticoats assign'd, She impiously prefers the world to love. . . If wanton language shows a naked mind.)
Can wealth give happiness? look round, and see And now and then, to grace her eloquence, What gay distress ! what splendid misery! An oath supplies the vacancies of sense. Whatever fortune lavishly can pour,
Hark! the shrill notes transpierce the yieldingair, The mind annihilates, and calls for more : And teach the neighb'ring echos how to swear. Wealth is a cheat, believe not what it says; By Jove, is faint, and for the simple swain ; Like any lord it promises -- and pays.
She on the Christian system is profane. How will the miser startle to he told
But tho' the volley ratiles in your ear, Of such a wonder as insolvent gold !
Believe her dress, she's not a grenadier. What nature wants has an intrinsic weight; If thunder's awful, how much more our dread All more is but the fashion of the plate, When Jove deputes a lady in his stead! Which, for one moment, charms the fickle view: A lady! pardon my mistaken pen ; It charms us now; anon we cast anew,
A shameless woman is the worst of men To some fresh birth of fancy more inclin'd: Few to good breeding make a just pretence, Then wed not acres, but a noble mind. Good breeding is the blossom of good sense ;
Mistaken lovers!' who make worth their care, The last result of an accomplish'd mind, And think accomplishments will win the fair. With outward grace, the body's virtue, join'd.
A violated A violaroid decency now reigns :
Who into shelter takes their tender bloom. And nymphs for failings take peculiar pains. And forms their minds to fly from ills to come! With Indian painters modern toasts agree, The mind when turo'd adrift, no rules to guide, The point they aim at is deforinity:
Drives at the mercy of the wind and tide; They throw their persons with a hoyden air Fancy and passion toss it to and fro, Across the room, and toss into the chair. Awhile torment, and then quite sink in woe. So far their commerce with mankind is gone, Ye beauteous orphans ! since in silent dust They for our manners have exchang'd their own. Your best example lies, my precepts trust, The modest look, the castigated grace,
Life swarms with ills; the boldest are afraid; The gentle movement, and slow measur'd pace, Where then is safety for a tender maid? For which her lovers died, her parents paid, Unfit for conflict, round beset with woes, Are indecorums with the modern maid.
ind inan, whom least she fears, her worst of foes! Stiff forms are bad, but let not worse intrude, When kind, most cruel; when oblig'd the most, Nor conquer art and nature to be rude. The least obliging, and by favors lost. Modern good-breeding carry to its height, Cruel by nature, they for kindness hate, And Lady D 's self will be polite.
| And scorn vou for ihose ills themselves create · Ye rising fair! ye bloom of Britain's isle!
If on your fame our sex a blot has thrown, When bigh-born Anna with a soften'd smile 'Twill ever stick thro' malice of your own. Leads on your train, and sparkles at your head, Most hard ! in pleasing your chief glory lies; What seems most hard, is not to be well-bred. And yet from pleasing your chief dangers rise : Her bright example with success pursue, Then please the best; and know, for men of sense And all but adoration is your due
Your strongest charms are native innocence. But adoration ! give me something more, Arts on the mind, like paint upon the face, Cries Lyce, on the borders of threescore; Fright him that's worih your love from your Nought treads so silent as the foot of Time; . In simple manners all the secret lies; sembrace. Hence we mistake our autumn for our prinie: Be kind and virtuous, you 'll be blest and wise. 'Tis greatly wise to know, before we 're told, Vain show and noise intoxicate the brain. The melancholy news that we grow old. Begin with giddiness, and end in pain, Autumnal Lyce carries in her face
| Affect not empty fame and idle praise, Memento mori to each public place.
Which all those wretches I describe betrays. Oh how your beating breast a mistress warms, Your sex's glory 'tis to shine unknown ; Who look's thro' spectacles to see your charms! Of all applause be foudest of your own. While rival undertakers hover round,
Beware the fever of the mind; that thirst And with his spade the sexton marks the ground, with which this age is eminently curst. Intent not on her own, but others' doom, To drink of pleasure but ivflames desire, She plans new conquests, and defrauds the tomb. And abstinence alone can quench ihe fire. In vain the cock has summon'd sprights away, Take pain from life, and terror from the tomb, She walks at noon, and blasts the bloom of day. Give peace in land, and promise bliss to come. Gay rainbow silks her mellow charms infold, And nought of Lyce but herself is old.
SATIRE VI. Her grizzled locks assume a smirkling grace,
: : On Women. And art has levell d her deep-furrow'd face. Inscribed to the Right Ilonoráble Lady Eliza. Her strange demand no mortal can approve'; . |
... beth Germain. We'll ask her blessing, but can 't ask her lore. She grants indeed a lady may decline
Interdum tamen et tollit Comedia vocem. Hor. (All ladies but herself) at ninety-nine.
I sought a patroness, but sought in vain : O how onlike her was the sacred age Apollo whisper'd in my car "Germain." Of prudent Portia! her grey hairs engage, I know her not. “Your reason's somewhat odd; Whose thoughts are suited to ber life's decline, " Who knows his patron now?" replied the god. Virtue's the paint that can make wrinkles shine. “Men write, to me and to the world unknown; That, and that only, can old age sustain ;. ." Then steal great names to shield them from Which yet all wishi, nor know they wish for pain. " the town. Not nuinerous are our jovs when life is new, " Detected worth, like beauty disarray'd, And yearly some are falling of the few; . 1" To covert flies, of praise itself afraid; But when we conquer life's meridian stage, “ Should she refuse to patronize your lays, And downward tend into the vale of age,. “ In vengeance write a volume in her praise. They drop apace; by nature some decay, "Nor think it hard so great a length to run; And some the blasts of fortune sweep away;
• When such the theme, 'twill easily be done." Till, naked quite of bappiness, aloud
Ye fair! to draw your excellence at length, We call for death, and shelter in a shroud. Exceeds the narrow bounds of human strength:
Where's Portia now? But Portia left behind You hear in miniature your picture see; Two lovely copies of her form and mind. Nor hope from Zincksmorejustice than from me What heart untouch'd their early grief can view, My portraits grace your mind, as his your side ; Like blushing rose-buds dipt in inorning dew! His portraitswillinflame, minequench your pride: